Non est Lux sine Tenebris
by TheDarkLordofDoom
Summary: 'The last thing I wish to say to you is this- that you mistakenly accredit me with bringing horror unto this world. I beg to differ- for it was I who gave the world its beauty. And what is to say my works are horrors? To me, they hold a great beauty none can take'. The Dark Lord would have words with you, dear reader. It appears you have been 'misled'.


**NON EST LUX SINE TENEBRIS**

**You.**

Yes, you. Thou- thyself- it matters not.

That which has any import is the matter of your capability to see me- perceive my words, in the least- and mine to perceive the works of every last cog that turns the delicate instrument you have come to know as your mind.

Know that _'thou hast been bless__é__d, in every aspect of thy being' _as the Atar-worshipping fools would say, to have audience with He who Arises in Might, little mortal.

No doubt you have read the histories- pathetic, shallow and utterly _turgid _writings befitting of the narrow-minded dogmatic fools who wrote them, and perfectly suitable for the limited capabilities of your kind. I have not read them, nor have any disposition to- but I know their every content, for I know all that I must despite this prison mine. _'Quenta Silmarillion'- _an utter representation of the fallacies of the authors among the Eruhîni.

You seek power- as do all. Knowledge is power, as some may have told you- but it does not define power. Power is I, and I am Power. I define it and transcend it. Therefore, it follows that what you must know lies with me and myself alone. There are those that would withhold from you even the least details- my sad excuses for kin stand foremost- but from none will you attain true _understanding, _save for He who is everywhere- and myself.

For I am His thought in all, His glory itself. He is everything, and that I am not- for He is, as I aforementioned, everything- and nothing. Pay attention, mortal! I am that which he deemed worthy of greatness- for He is everything-and-nothing, whereas I am everything-not-nothing. Three things I am not; I am no thief. I am no slave. I am no liar. But He- He is everything.

At the dawn of creation, when music first began, He most conveniently divided everything-and-nothing among me and my brethren into everything foremost and then nothing. I am everything- they are nothing.

I am the First-and-Last- the Beginning and the End. The beginning of the end and the end of the beginning. The Valar- they are but the inconspicuous middle.

Ah, I hear your plea. I sense your discomfort- your feeling of inherent malaise. I do also sense, however, that peculiar curiosity and interest I have found in your kind- most definitely worth study and mention. Let us begin, then, with beginning of the beginning, or perhaps the end of the end- that is for you to tell… erroneously, of course.

Let us begin- '**Aiya ath****ā****raphel****ū****n! ****Â****gh aka****šā****n Ath****ā****rad****ō****stoz, m****ā****chall****ā****m Belek****ō****r****ō****z!'**

It began with song- Music of a grandeur and kind long forgotten in this age.

'**Arkh****āst ayanūmūz.'**

The throats of the ones who sang the world into being will be silenced forever ere the end, save mine- for mine will be the voice that silences.

Many children Atar did have of his thought- and one true child born of his very being. The latter speaks to you now. Of the former, there is little to be said. **Achūlēz. Arōmēz. Vîyārez and her hated jail-crow, Náromōz. Vārādōz, **who was once fair as the light she wove, **and yet turned to a foul, vile waste who would purge all truth from this world when she joined with Mānāwenūz, not I.**

I digress, mortal- but she was mine, mine from the beginning, as was Arda. I perhaps thought better of my _dear brother, _but see now the truth. He is a thief- a base thief, one of three-things-nothing, as I am not. Wise he was- but a fool. Perhaps he knows the one difference- even if he is to have stolen the Star-Queen from me evermore, Arda shall be mine- shall always be mine till the end.

**Mānāwenūz. **'Blessed One', my _dear little brother _is called, whereas the true offspring of Eru is labelled '**Dušamanūđhāz'. **'Marred one'. 'Dark Destroyer'. And so they label the greatest of Atar's children, while an utter thief and weakling is given 'greatest authority' and praised as Lord in my place. _Pathetic._ He should be 'Dušamanūđhāz', him and all his kin! Yet it matters not- and so must I claim my rightful throne.

He knows- he is intuitive and wise for a usurper and a thief- else it would be folly to claim any relation between us. He knows that none who sang as they did will ever sing again as on the Day of the Song- for it was not song in words, little mortal. A dialect of its own was the verse, defined not in syllables, and so very perfectly complete in its own right. The very language I speak is a concept that takes from the meaning of Thought by placing it in vessels you know as words- for words as vessels are limited. Finite. And so, the weakling Valar will nevermore be able to call forth once again the grand song of their fëar- for they choose to limit themselves. Only I am left.

Behold me now, as my fëa sings the notes of my glorious song, unleashes my absolute power and mastery. How else would you explain our little conversation- perhaps it is that I coerce a mortal to write these very words as I speak them to be left evermore for the perusal of others apart from you. One is never enough, as any of the wise must know.

Yet at the beginning, my song was greatest, highest in its melody, mightiest in its timbre and finally… the most… original.

No doubt you have already set it in yourself that I am evil itself, that I am the… what is the term… 'antagonist' of this tale. It is known to me that any of your currently… limited… capacity of understanding would think so. You cannot, therefore, appreciate the true genius of my song.

You must know that I am Power. Chaos and change are my nature. Evil- 'tis merely my invention.

You have been taught by chroniclers to recognise the Valarin song as 'Harmony' and mine as 'Discord'. Interesting terms indeed- of course, I shall not trouble you with their true meanings, as you would question life itself. We do not wish that now, do we? It is much too soon for you to join me. You will, eventually- I would but prefer it later.

I ask you- Is it not wrong to simply judge on the basis of character? What is to say that my song was not true harmony, and that of my brethren discordant? _Nothing, for such questions are naught more than flaccid._

You have been taught to envision the song of the ayanūmūz- you assume my tune a loud, cacophonous ring of many voices- tuneless, aimless, chaotic. But what is cacophony- and what, then, is harmony?

As for the Valarin song- 'Filled with sorrow, from which its beauty chiefly came'. You expect a scoff of indignation, a dismissal, perhaps another utterance of the word '_pathetic'. _And that is why you mortals will never rise above the shackles placed on you, for you lack insight. I do not.

And so I say it is an admirable song, beauteous enough to give Arda life. The firmament of Eä is defined by but one constant and one alone- _contrast. _Definition itself is impossible without contrast, as one cannot answer what-is if one lacks the knowledge of what-is-not. And this very contrast to my song was perfect for giving rise to Arda.

She was mine. I have referred to Arda as my throne- but that would be erroneous. Now let me tell you, mortal, what He who arises in might has never told any save He who gave rise to him- _Arda is my love._

_My own. _

_My precious. _

And if I cannot have her for myself, none can- and as long as I persist, none will. She will belong to none else until the dark and bitter end. Mānāwenūzmay rule as vice-gerant- but he will never be her true lord.

'**Ath****ā****raphel****ū****n ****dušamanūđhān' **she is called- but she has not been marred, nay. Merely wronged.

You muse how it could ever be 'right' for a 'villain' like me to be her true lord. Quite predictable, I see. Good and Evil, as I am obliged to tell you, are relative concepts, for neither can exist in the absence of the other.

I will have you know the distinction between the narrow-minded and the insightful- all that is dark need not be 'evil', and all things of the light need not be 'good', for it is illogical to define a relative concept with reference to another. Darkness and Light are mutual- what is to say they are not different sides of the same perspective? No shadow is cast in the absence of light to delineate it, and neither can one perceive light if there is no darkness to surround it.

It is, therefore, fallacious to dismiss me as 'evil'. Do I not make sense, mortal?

Ah, the stubbornness gifted to you by Atar still holds, I see. What, then, are these 'absolute concepts' in context of which one must define the relative concepts of good and evil?

There are but two pairs of the absolute- Everything and Nothing, as I have stated prior (I see that the memory of the Atani has not in the least evolved since last I observed it), as well as Order and Chaos.

I will state fully that I am a being of Chaos- but what is to say that Order is the correct path?

What is to say that Chaos is not true order, and that Order is not chaos?

Indeed, change is the only reliable constant that does exist within this firmament- and perfect order is but hypothetical. This simple concept has baffled the Valar- as _my _brethren, they must hold some claim to wisdom- but they have been foolish beyond count of words.

You now wonder about Right and Wrong. You define the Valar as 'right' and myself as 'wrong'. **D****ū****rl****ō****th****ū****z ar****š****at****ō****r****ū****kh M****āc****hanum****ā****z!**

The epitome of that which none- nay, none- have been capable of comprehending- 'Right and 'Wrong'.

Let me tell you then, atan- Good and Evil may be relative concepts, but they exist as concepts nonetheless. Right and Wrong, however- it pains me- yea, pains me, to acknowledge such sheer bigotry exists in Eä.

Right and Wrong are not concepts- they are but opinions! Death to those who seek to define them as they will in their own thought, and set them down as the law of the land- Death to the Valar, and death to all who dare follow such woefully erroneous teachings!

You would be surprised to hear that the Dark Lord of Arda, the 'greatest foe' Eä shall ever face, regards any matter as a great sorrow of his life apart from any incident of personal detriment- and I do.

I weep, mortal, as all do- I but weep for different reasons altogether. This perhaps one of the foremost.

Right and Wrong are defined by he who prevails over another with a different view. He who writes the history of a defeated foe seeks to set down laws of what is right and what is wrong. I transcend such petty vainglory, yet I suffer for it nonetheless.

Nay, you are not deaf, mortal. Nor have you come to hallucination. I do not claim to be an innocent victim- but I have been oppressed as much as I have been an oppressor.

Doom, as that torturer Náromōz will tell you, binds us all. What I shall tell you is that the greater your power, the greater the doom that binds you. I was once greatest of all- and thus was my doom inevitable. I have been shackled by the chains of my own might, compelled to pursue a path set out for me- as I could do nothing else.

That false chronicler whose histories you read perhaps wrote somewhere that I chose my own path- of darkness- mayhap he most conveniently was disinclined to mention that I could do naught else. Atar made me as I am. He laid down laws by which I could do naught but follow this path.

You wonder- I have never been one to adhere to laws, have I? Of course I have not- and I did question them. That, my soon-to-be servant, was my downfall. 'Twas a trap, as elaborate as it was simple. As soon as I questioned Atar's law of doom, I enforced it. I was _bound _to question it. By questioning it, I asserted my nature- my nature to seek power. There could be no other way but to gain it to topple such a law… and therein lies the tragedy.

Others have made me what I am- and you may be assured of the knowledge that I shall never disappoint them. **Belekōrōz umūbārth Dušamanūđhāz. Dušamanūđhāz tūradōz mānādostōz. Aiya Belekōrōz, ****D****ū****rl****ō****th****ū****r agh aka****šā****n! **

It is to my understanding that perhaps my dialect is beyond your comprehension- perhaps I shall instruct this mortal parrot-scribe to furnish you with its very rough meanings. You cannot comprehend how your tongue has not the words to convey my rage… and my sorrow. 'Tis not grief you are wont to find in anyone else- and you would do well to forget I spoke of it, lest you wish to rouse my not inconsiderable store of wrath.

Order and Chaos, was it?

Let me furnish you with an example you are perhaps well-acquainted with. As you are very well aware, I… invested resources into claiming to my service the Chief Maia of that simple, slow-witted, compassionate fool of a smith, Aulë. Mairon he was then, Sauron soon after, and as of now, Nothing.

Here was a Maia who quite practically espoused the primordial concept you champion- order. Perhaps he knew, always knew that it was an impossible aim. For Order cannot exist where there is chaos, and entropy is impossible to eliminate whenever life and its creation is a variable. Nonetheless, he was no less persistent in achieving his aims. To achieve order, he knew he must have power- I saw then that he was perhaps not quite as short-sighted as the others of his kind. He was foolish in the beginning- yet frustrated by the droning words of his pathetic master (how some are not was once beyond me). All it required was for me to show him the error of his ways, and then he came of his own will, binding himself so thoroughly to my service that it appeared quite easy.

He certainly was useful- if a little lacking in terms of raw power in battle and reliability- and I would have thought I taught him well. Of course, during my time in this prison, I have seen all he did through his own eyes. Yes, mortal, I am not blind to the events of your dear Third Age and the Second before it.

I knew him to be no fanatic, and no fool. He would never blindly worship me- I knew it, of course. It was all for power. Through power, his chains would be broken, he would cast down my chaos and declare order. Therefore, I gave him power- a pity that it came at a price (for him).

Perhaps he never noticed that I had planted a small part of my fëa in him- a pity that I had to rip a greater part of his away and cast it aside. I saw him rise from the ashes of Angband, declare himself Dark Lord (I had expected nothing less), and attempt to build a Kingdom opposed to the principles of the duty I gave him. He was always doomed to fail.

He did well enough for his limited capabilities in part (Núménor was nothing short of admirable), but was such a pathetic fool at times, as with the ring, that I could only laugh bitterly. He spun his webs well in the Second Age, but The Third Age saw him end in an utterly shameful display. That he roams the corners of the world as a shadowy wisp of the wind, a meaningless scrap of life, is both deserved and a pity.

I have reason to believe he loved Arda as I did, but could not understand her unlike myself. She cannot be tamed- she wishes to be wild and free- freedom I gave her. I freed her from the laws of the Valar. As an apprentice, Sauron was wise- as Dark Lord, he was sometimes a fool. Wise fool. The order he sought to bring never came, and he was repelled by the Eldar, even outright losing to them. He eventually triumphed in his long duel- only for the Atani to crush him. In the process, he achieved naught but destruction.

What he did not seem to understand is in many ways a common mistake- that chaos and order are completely exclusive concepts and that the former is too terrible to even think of coming to pass. They know not that if chaos destroys order, then chaos will _cease to be chaos and become order. _It will take its place as the natural law, and will become a universal constant- and I would rule over it all. Under my rule, all would be perfect, as it was meant to be.

Order, by definition, is utterly impossible to achieve. And if it is, in hypothesis, what else is there but a dull expectancy? What meaning is found in any causality? If all is ordered, I shall say- beauty shall be taken from this world.

Under my rule, however, all would be free. In their heart, all crave radical freedom- and I, the merciful lord, would grant it. Would that not be paradise?

Perhaps this was all a test by Atar- to see if I am worthy of the right to rule. I have never, to this day, disappointed him in what he wished of me.

What you must know, my would-be servant, is why I am set aside thus. In the beginning of time, all that we wrought traced its origins in Eru. How must it feel, mortal, if you cannot call that which you created your own? What joy, then, is to be found in you work, if it is the spawn of another?

I have heard of your rather flat concept of 'patents'. I urge you, think of it in a more dynamic manner. Why do you wish such patents? Does not true joy come from knowing that your works are your own and solely so?

You wish to know why I roamed the Void, do you? 'Tis not darkness, as I once assumed. 'Tis _unbeing. _There are two concepts of nothingness, as I said. That which is negligible is simply nothing. The void, on the other hand, is nothing-of-nothing. **M****ô****rd****ath**. It is what is not- and the void is what is not. The latter, however, I have found to be inapplicable as an affirmative statement- yet perfectly reasonable in terms of a figure of speech.

It is sentient. Do you not know, mortal? It is sentient, and it _hungers. _It comes from Atar, stems from Atar's might. It is Dark-Atar as I know Him. And although He has seen fit to rip my fëa apart with His tendrils and restructure it with every passing instant, He has furnished me with wisdom. I see now my folly- at once I thought to create being from unbeing, something-from-nothing, so that I could cherish it and call it truly my own. Yet even here, were it possible to bring aught into being, 'twould belong to Atar, as Atar is Everything-and-nothing, anything-of-everything and nothing-of-nothing.

What, then, am I? Am I but a thought of His, as are the Valar? Nay, it cannot be- for I transcend doubt. Am I His child? Most certainly, but what father allows not his children to have unto themselves a life of their own? A cruel one, no doubt- yet He is all I have.

Never has any being after the Dawn of Creation been able to perceive, let alone, understand the works of my mind, and although that is a granted fact to which there can be no alternative, I can never feel kinship with any being save Atar himself. I can only gaze forward and accept His embrace at the end- and His embrace is so very vast that it is a terrifying thing. To be Melkor is to be utterly alone- can you not now understand why I sought to derive joy from my works? Is it not rational to seek anchors when cast adrift in a sea in which one can cling to nary a drop?

Perhaps there is only one who would know what I must face, and a pity it is that he was born of the heinous race of the Eldar.

Fëanáro was his name, Curufinwë, and he wrought great works and loved them as do I. He was mightiest of his pathetic race- and yet he could not be a maia. To be Maiarin is to will to serve, and I doubt he would have served any. For him to be Valarin would be catastrophic, a sheer anomaly. 'Twas only the Elder left, then, for His _dear _children feel a peculiar entitlement I have found very worthy of exploitation.

None save Arda herself in all her glory rival the greatest work he wrought, the Silmarilli. For that one work he has my admiration unconditional- I did utter that, Mortal. Waste not my time with your thoughts of your ears deceiving you.

By some marvel, he managed to capture the Flame Imperishable within him, am place it within the star-gems he wrought. And then Vārādōz, she who was once beautiful in my eyes, hallowed them after seemingly recalling some of her former arts.

I myself could not accomplish such a feat as Fëanáro. The flame of Anor, mortal, is something I have long sought. It burns within all of us, and is a gift to all- a cruel gift.

I once had the very brightest flame within me. I burned the most brilliant and the most beautiful among all- beautiful and terrible. And yet I found, as I challenged the boundaries of restriction (as aforementioned, I was bound to), that the flame within me dimmed. I lost in authority as I gained in power. As I gave of the flame within me to bolster my will and gain pure _might- _I found that the flame did not burn eternally. As I gave of it, _it went away. _It might seem a simple conclusion to you now, Mortal- but you cannot imagine the devastation I felt when I came to that realisation.

The Flame is the key to creation, and I have told you of how I love beauty and great works. Would it not be impossible for me to not crave it? Think of the wondrous things I could do- I would finally have something to love and call exclusively my own. It appeared that Fëanáro had accomplished what I could not, bringing _being _from the flame within him.

Above all, however, the principal lure of the Silmarilli was a simple concept, almost mundane. The Flame of Anor was _warm. _As I gave of it, for I could do naught else by nature, I lost some of that warmth. I felt… cold. Incomplete- as if there was a certain emptiness within me. I felt that they would fill that crater. I would be, perhaps, whole again.

And so was I taken by lust for the star-hallowed stones, and so did I not see them for the terrible curse they were. You accuse me of corrupting them- 'twas the Silmarilli that corrupted _me. _

In taking them I set aside my love, my highest love for Arda. Creation? I could call naught of the flame from them, as they rejected me. They burned my hands. _Warmth? _They brought naught but greed and more emptiness. They shone with a holy light, holding their own radiance to themselves. Perhaps Fëanáro gave them a part of his will- and they are selfish. They gave me naught of their light. They shadowed me further, cloaking me in further darkness with their radiance. They were paradox itself as I am. Curse-blessing. Cold-flame.

I forgot my duty to Arda.

Then came a war, a war of an age- I do not feel any compulsion to narrate. You must know the history.

I was become a Nihilist, dark in my hatred, and I hurt Arda as I had no right to. She must have been pained- I know not. It occurred to me that none would allow me Arda for myself- and if I could not have her for myself, I resolved to ensure that none could.

I lost most of my power, waned in strength as I obtained the Silmarilli. I was humiliated by Ungoliant- she-who-was-a-mistake- and ought to have known my folly. Ere my theft of Fëanáro's jewels, I had spent three ages in Mandos, in the 'care' of he who deserves the title of 'Dark Vala' more than I ever did.

I unleashed monsters in their thousands, thought to dominate, to subdue and subsume- such folly.

There is naught to say of my foolishness.

Two incidents strike me as perfect examples- both you are familiar with.

The matter of the Elven princess of Doriath is one well-known among you 'scholars' of mortals. I have delineated three sentiments- one of absolute obsession and infatuation with the character, as that false chronicler clearly felt- one of admiration and respect, as is most definitely deserved- and a quite peculiar sentiment of resentment for her lack of weakness and absolute virtue (a mortal trait I find worthy of note and inspection).

You are familiar with her defeat of Mairon my servant, and of her exploitation of my own self. Have you ever thought of what I must have felt?

I was impressed by her, if not quite taken by infatuation. I saw in her face the beauty that I once saw in  
Vārādōz- yet she was not vile and foul, and she did not hate me. In that moment, she seemed indeed lovely and pure before my eyes- ripe for the taking. Another testament to the madness that claimed me in those days.

Never could I have anticipated her song of devastating might, her words of power that would put Ainur to shame. She put me to sleep, dragging me down by the weight of my own deeds and thoughts. The subsequent theft of a Silmaril was perhaps well-deserved on my part.

Then came the second incident.

By the end of the War of Wrath, when I was cast into the Void, I had naught of choice to recall my deeds. I found, to my aghast horror, that the crass term of 'villain' could very plainly be applied to me.

I was become 'Morgoth', Dark foe of the world- for I found that by the end of the age, I would rather utterly corrupt but one- the very brightest of the souls of those who opposed me- rather than destroy them utterly.

I would rather torture opposition than crush it- and I _enjoyed _it. To think that He who Arises in Might could have fallen so low, become so base.

I recalled then Húrin Thalion of Hador's line, mortal who would show scorn to my face. I recall how I forced him to see with my eyes, how I bound him to a seat of corpses above Thangorodrim.

For his line I wove as a web a doom so dark and terrible that Ungoliant would be proud. I expended a grand part of my power to bring into being this doom, only so that I could see the stubborn mortal and his line suffer.

To what end? I accomplished naught but the death of Glaurung, a faithful servant and indeed a comfort as both pet and person to me. I could have expended such power of various different ventures, most profitable- but I chose to be petty. I saw then that no matter how I twisted my own view, I would still be called the 'antagonist' of this tale, and rightly so.

It is a mistake I will not commit again. When I shall rise anew at the Dagor Dagorath, I shall set aside my fears, my attachments, my flaws and my doubts. My rise shall be the coming of a second, brighter sun, blotting out the dying first.

The last thing I wish to say to you is this- you accredit me to the bringing of horror to this world. I beg to differ- for it was I who gave the world its beauty. Nothing can be defined if it is not in contrast to another, and I gave beauty meaning by bringing its 'opposite' into being. And what is to say my works are horrors? To me, they hold a great beauty none can take.

When I rise and break the Door of Night, you will be by my side, mortal. You will witness it, and you will applaud it. You are mine, mine forever, as is everything. But what you must know is that even though I bring destruction, I bring renewal. Without me, the world would grow stagnant and the Valar weary. Without my rise, all would go on haltingly until everything simply… died.

Look at me now- forced to bring ruin upon my beloved Arda to begin a new world, and a new music. Bound by primordial forces greater than myself to destroy that which I love so that those who I hate are renewed.

At least allow me to be the hero of my own tale.

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

**NON EST LUX SINE TENEBRIS (Latin): [There is] Naught of light without darkness**

**In bold is Melkian, Melkor's variant of Valarin in earlier canon. The words are varied slightly from known Valarin. I chose on purpose to not make it a more guttural or harsh language.**

**Aiya ath****ā****raphel****ū****n! ****Â****gh aka****šā****n Ath****ā****rad****ō****stoz, m****ā****chall****ā****m Belek****ō****r****ō****z!- Ai Arda! By authority of Eru, rightful throne of Melkor!**

**Arkh****āst ayanūmūz: Music (song) of the Ainur**

**Achūlēz: Aulë**

**Arōmēz: Oromë**

**Vîyārez: Vairë**

**Náromōz: Námo**

**Vārādōz: Varda**

**Mānāwenūz: Manwë**

**Belekōrōz: Melkor**

**Dušamanūđhāz: Morgoth**

**Ath****ā****raphel****ū****n ****dušamanūđhān: Arda Marred**

**Ayanūmūz: Ainur**

**D****ū****rl****ō****th****ū****z ar****š****at****ō****r****ū****kh M****āc****hanum****ā****z: Corrupt worshipper of the Valar**

**E****ä (Quenya)****: Universe**

**Atani: Secondborn/Men**

**Belekōrōz umūbārth Dušamanūđhāz. Dušamanūđhāz tūradōz mānādostōz. Aiya Belekōrōz, ****D****ū****rl****ō****th****ū****r agh aka****šā****n: Melkor, doomed to become Morgoth. Morgoth, bound by doom forever. Ai Melkor, corrupted as a rule!**

**M****ô****rd****ath (Sindarin): Dark Void/Nothingness**

* * *

**CONTEXT**

**That Melkor once desired Varda is heavily implied in the Silmarillion and confirmed in 'Annals of Aman'. She, however, rejected him and hated him more than any other Vala.**

**I have long believed that Melkor thought of himself as the protagonist in his tale.**

**Please make extremely generous allowances for unreliable narration, as he is perhaps the most unreliable narrator of all. On second thought, I should perhaps have put that at the beginning.**

* * *

**Author's Note:**** With regards to my status of writing, no, I am still quite dead. Consider rather that I have reanimated myself, as any good necromancer, for time enough to write this. This was inspired after a long, LONG discussion that somehow saw the appearance of a very wise Melkor. This is also written for the benefit of and dedicated to the person who inspired it. **

**I did not use archaisms as I did not wish it any more of a conundrum than it already was. **


End file.
